Lesser Forms of Love
by voldiesheadgirl
Summary: Guilt plagues Draco in the dark of night. Pairing: NarcissaDraco.


Title: Lesser Forms of Love  
Author: Head Girl  
Pairing: Narcissa/Draco  
Rating: M  
Word Count: 996  
Warning: incest  
Summary: Guilt plagues Draco in the dark of night.  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

On a bed not his own, Draco lay on his back, eyes gazing absently at the ceiling. The moon was high, shining its light through the window, casting eerie shadows through the room. He could hear the soft breathing of the woman lying next to him, her hair a blond curtain draping over her pillow, sleeping without so much of a care while he lay awake. Maybe it was her strength that let her sleep so soundly. Maybe it was Draco's pangs of conscience that were his weakness. Father often said that – well, he didn't exactly want to think of his father right now.

_Your father will be away for at least another week. There's no one to disturb us. Come to bed, Draco._

Draco's mother was the picture of a pure blood female: perfectly beautiful, prim and proper. And perfectly cold. She usually wore a look of disdain as if everything in her surroundings was beneath her. It was almost as if the very halls of the mansion were stiff with a chill, the combination of his father's stern haughtiness and his mother's cool disregard. Draco often felt stifled, smothered by it, as if he could never get warm again.

But there were times when he knew warmth and sweetness. There were times when a broad smile would blossom on Narcissa's face like the breaking dawn, the spring after the dead of winter. A time when she seemed alive and not like a woman carved from marble. The first time, Draco had been so young, so terribly confused. He'd angered his mother by playing in the flower beds, tracking dirt over the mansion. She'd all but dragged him into the bathroom to give him a bath, but not before locking the door. Her hands had been so soft as they stroked across his skin. At the time, Draco couldn't remember when she'd been so gentle with him, a time when she'd given him her full attention. He remembered smiling, reveling in it.

But then, Narcissa's caressing touch had morphed into something disturbingly intimate, doing things he hadn't understood. Though Draco was surely clean there, she'd kept stroking him between his legs until an aching feeling grew, the first time he could remember that flesh stir. Draco had tried to push her hand away, but she grasped it almost painfully with her other hand. Draco had looked up at her, and normally cool eyes were alight with a fire that he'd never seen. Her lips were parted and her face flushed as she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. Then he'd had to close his eyes, unsure of what kept them glued shut, what made his gut clench and his hips buck upward. Narcissa had cooed to him, speaking warmly against the shell of his ear, making him shiver.

_So good, Draco. You're mother's perfect little boy. Just like that. Come for me._

Draco found that he'd do almost anything to make her look at him like that again, with that intensity of need. So when she'd draw him to some secluded area of the mansion to teach him more of things that he should have never known – at least not from her, he'd gone despite his restless conscience, despite the nagging voice that screamed to him of wrong. So Draco learned the things Narcissa taught him, just so he could see that fire again.

As he got older, Draco was able to appreciate the wonder of the smooth body writhing beneath him or above, the nails that would rake down his back almost hard enough to leave marks. The teeth that nibbled on his neck. The pale hair spread out on satin sheets. And as he'd pour warmly into the same hollow that had given him to the world, Draco would look up at her, the picture of debauchery. 'I love you' would spill from her lips and he would feel himself melting into a puddle of teenaged boy on the sheets.

And now as she lay sated and sleeping soundly, her back to him and a hand fisted into her pillow, Draco felt slightly ill. And thoroughly used. Why was her tenderness only at times like these? At any other moment, his mother was as she always had been. Why was it sin that made Narcissa seem alive? And when he'd see her in his father's arms as she should be what was that pulling at his heart, that pang of simultaneous jealousy and guilt? Draco loved his father, but yet he couldn't end this, couldn't refuse those beckoning arms. Some sweetness was better than none at all.

Rising from the bed, Draco slipped on his robe, holding it closed as he made his way to the door. Narcissa stirred slightly but did not wake. She never woke when Draco left. In the morning things would be back to the usual state of things. Until the next time. Until she wanted him again.

The door opened with a creak. Lost in his thoughts and his eyes at his feet, Draco didn't notice the footsteps headed toward him initially. As his eyes widened in realization, Draco's head jerked upwards. He looked a short distance down the hallway to see eyes trained on him. A pair of grey eyes much like Draco's own. Eyes that took in the sight of Draco exiting _his_ bedroom in the middle of the night, naked beneath his robe, debauched and smelling of sex. As he saw his father's wide eyes, full of an emotion Draco had always feared seeing there, as he heard the glass of wine that the man had been sipping from shatter loudly on the hard wood floor, Draco's mouth moved wordlessly. Then those same eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting the man's face. As Lucius clenched his hands into fists at his sides in a failing effort to retain control, there really wasn't anything that Draco could say except:

"I just wanted to please her."

End


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